Inside Chaldea, 15 Minutes ago.
Dr. Roman walked leisurely through the quiet corridors of Chaldea, holding two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. The lights above flickered gently, casting a soft glow along the pristine white walls.
He was supposed to be on his way to the command room—preferably without spilling anything—but his mind had long since drifted elsewhere.
His steps were steady, but his thoughts weren't. They were tangled up in confusion, curiosity, and no small amount of awe.
It had all started the moment he first laid eyes on that Servant. The day the mysterious figure introduced himself, briefly and with little flair, Roman had felt something... off.
The Servant had claimed the Caster class, but his abilities didn't seem to fit neatly within what Roman expected from one.
Since then, Roman had found himself thinking about that Caster far more than he cared to admit.
It wasn't just that the Servant was powerful—Chaldea had seen its fair share of powerful individuals. It was the absurdity of the Caster's abilities, and the unsettling truth that Roman couldn't trace any of them to a known legend.
The first skill the Caster revealed had left Roman nearly speechless: the ability to recreate objects, artifacts, and weapons from myths and legends—not as illusions, but as tangible constructs. True, they weren't perfect replicas—their power was diluted, mere imitations of the originals—but the sheer act of creating them was astonishing.
Next came the ability to alter his body to take on traits of animals—claws, wings, fur, tails—merging beast with man as though it were nothing more than a change of clothes. It was surreal. Unreal. And yet entirely real in front of his eyes.
Roman had dug through every record, every legend, every whisper of ancient lore he could find. He searched tirelessly for a name, a story, even a rumor that might align with the abilities this Caster possessed.
But he found nothing.
No legend.
No chronicle.
No place in human history.
It was as if the Caster didn't exist.
And yet here he was. A Servant, summoned into a Singularity. Acting with purpose. Fighting to restore order. Not hostile, not corrupted—but undeniably enigmatic.
Roman's brows furrowed as he turned a corner. A Servant without a legend. No records, no legacy. What kind of being was this?
"Is he really a Heroic Spirit…?" he muttered under his breath.
He sighed, finally shaking his head. No use getting lost in thought. If he kept this up, the coffee would get cold—and he'd never make it to the command room.
"I really need to stop overthinking this," he said with a tired chuckle.
Still, as he resumed his walk with a little more focus, the image of the Caster lingered in the back of his mind.
A question still echoed inside him.
Just who are you really…?
.
.
.
Command Room.
The door to the command room slid open with a soft hiss as Roman stepped inside, the familiar hum of monitors and the quiet tapping of keys filling the air. He was met by the sight of several staff members working diligently at their stations, eyes flickering between data feeds and magical readings.
"Morning, Doctor Roman," one technician greeted without looking up.
"Morning," Roman replied, forcing a smile as he handed one of the coffees to a nearby staff member before making his way toward the central terminal. "Anything new?"
"Actually, yes," Da Vinci's voice called out from the main monitor, her image flickering into view with a bright, cheerful grin. "You might want to take a look at this."
Roman raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me it's not another anomaly…"
"Well, not an anomaly, per se," Da Vinci said, leaning back in her chair, "but you'll find it interesting."
Roman leaned over the monitor, eyes narrowed as he watched the surging mana signature enveloping the Caster on atop of the Nautilus.
The magical energy swirling around him had reached a level comparable to that of a fully unleashed Noble Phantasm, and yet—there was no clear activation chant, no dramatic display of a named attack.
Just a seamless shift.
A change in presence.
The man once known to them as "Caster" was no longer the boyish figure clad in blue and white. In his place stood a different person entirely—an older figure, composed and grim, dressed in a long red coat and dark armor, his hair had turned stark white, and his eyes, once bright and curious, now held a cold and battle-worn clarity.
The transformation was complete, but the intent behind it remained unclear.
"...Is that a transformation-type Noble Phantasm?" one technician asked, puzzled.
Da Vinci folded her arms, her smile gone. "It could be. It certainly fits the mana reading. The amount of magical energy being released—it's consistent with high-tier Noble Phantasms."
"But we still don't have a name or classification for it," another staff member muttered, scanning through Chaldea's internal records. "No registered match... But it's seem he's hijacking another Servant's abilities?"
Roman remained silent for a moment, absorbing every detail on the screen. Then he slowly shook his head.
"No… this isn't a standard transformation. He's not just changing form—he's changing who he is."
Da Vinci raised an eyebrow. "You think it's a type of imitation?"
"Possibly," Roman answered. "But even then, it's beyond conventional magecraft. I've never seen a Servant mimic another like this, down to their combat aura and weaponry. It's like he's become an entirely different Heroic Spirit."
The screen flickered as mana surged again. The air around the battlefield shimmered, rippling with an energy signature resembling a Reality Marble—but still distorted, as if being forced into existence.
"Something's coming," Roman said softly.
"Yeah…" Da Vinci's eyes narrowed, filled with curiosity and concern. "And I get the feeling Heracles is the target."
They watched in silence.
No one in the command room dared speak again. All they could do was observe, monitor, and hope
"Who is he really…?" Roman wondered silently, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "And what exactly is that Noble Phantasm…?"
***
I landed lightly on the deck of Jason's ship, the wood creaking beneath my boots. The moment my feet touched the surface, I felt every eye on me—Jason's crew, the towering shadow of Heracles, and the calculating gaze of Medea. None of them spoke. None of them moved. For a brief second, time seemed to hold its breath.
I didn't wait for them to react.
My crimson coat swayed slightly as I took a step forward, my gaze locked onto the behemoth of a man before me. Heracles stood motionless, but I could feel it—his presence, his fury, his sheer raw power barely contained beneath the surface. He was a monster in every sense of the word.
But even monsters can be trapped.
Raising my right arm, I pointed directly at him, voice calm, unwavering.
"Unlimited Blade Works."
The instant the words left my lips, the air itself trembled.
A pulse of mana erupted from the space between us, warping the world in a sudden surge. Reality twisted. The sky above cracked like glass. The deck beneath us faded into a blur as the boundary between dimensions shattered.
And then—silence.
In the blink of an eye, both Heracles and I vanished from their sight.
A stunned silence followed.
Jason blinked, his mouth slightly agape as his brain struggled to catch up. "What the hell just happened?!"
Medea's expression darkened, her brows knitting as she clenched her staff tighter. "That was… teleportation magic? No, too stable. That was something far more advanced."
Her voice held tension—she clearly hadn't expected this, and the lack of control over the situation unsettled her.
Hector, however, remained calm. He hadn't moved since the beginning, and now he simply shifted his gaze, thoughtfully watching the space where the two figures had disappeared. A flicker of intrigue crossed his usually unreadable face.
But then his eyes moved—past the distorted mana in the air, past the disturbed Jason and calculating Medea.
His gaze landed on the Nautilus.
Or more specifically, the people standing atop it.
His eyes locked onto Paris, whose tiny frame stood defiantly at the edge of the deck, crossbow ready in his hands. And perched atop his head, almost lazily, was the god Apollo in his divine sheep form.
The silence was broken only by the distant crackle of mana still lingering from the vanished Reality Marble.
Hector's grip tightened on his spear, ever so slightly.
Something had shifted on this battlefield—and not just the location of the fight.
The real battle… was only just beginning.
.
.
.
As the haze of light faded and my vision sharpened, the new world around me came into focus.
A vast, barren landscape stretched out in all directions—an endless desert forged not of sand, but of countless swords. Blades of every shape and size jutted from the cracked, rust-colored ground like a graveyard of forgotten legends.
The wind whispered across them, carrying the soft metallic clang of steel brushing against steel.
Above us, the sky burned with a deep, unnatural orange hue. Clouds, tinted with crimson and gold, drifted slowly across the heavens, casting long, eerie shadows across the field of blades. There was no sun, yet the light was ever-present, as if the world itself glowed from some unseen fire.
I stood still for a moment, letting the air settle. This place… I knew it intimately, despite never having stepped foot in it until now.
Unlimited Blade Works.
I turned my gaze forward—and there he was.
Heracles.
Not far ahead, the monstrous Servant stood among the swords like an immovable wall of muscle and fury. His skin caught the strange light of this realm, highlighting every scar, every tension in his massive frame. His crimson eyes burned with primal instinct, tracking me silently. He said nothing, but his presence alone felt like a storm waiting to explode.
This was it.
A world forged by steel and memory. A battlefield built for one-on-one duels. And here, I held the advantage. Because this wasn't just any battlefield—
It was my domain now.
A faint smile curled at the corner of my lips as I stepped forward, the cracked ground of this endless field of swords crunching beneath my feet. The air shimmered slightly with residual mana, the atmosphere charged with tension—silent, yet screaming with anticipation.
I let out a soft chuckle, my voice laced with a cocky, almost playful confidence as I raised my gaze toward the towering figure before me.
"So… are you ready for the rematch?" I asked, my tone carrying both challenge and amusement. "I'd like to think you've been waiting for this just as much as I have."
Heracles said nothing. He merely exhaled—a low, rumbling sound like a beast stirred from its slumber. The wind shifted slightly. A single sword buried in the ground between us rattled from the pressure of our mana clashing invisibly in the air.
With a thought, I extended both hands to my sides—and in an instant, steel answered my call.
Twin blades shimmered into existence, forming from whirling sparks of mana as the gears of this world turned. The first was Kanshou, a black, curved blade forged in mirrored perfection. The second, Bakuya, its white twin, gleamed with an almost holy light beneath the burning sky.
They fit into my hands like old companions—no, like extensions of my will. My stance shifted naturally, instinctively, as if I had always fought with them. Because here, in this Reality Marble, I had.
This wasn't just a battlefield.
This was a stage built from memory, resolve, and the endless forging of blades.
And here, Heracles would find no mercy.
Heracles moved first.
With a deafening roar, he lunged forward like a thunderclap given form, the very ground beneath his feet shattering from the sheer force of his charge. Dust exploded in his wake, his massive stone club already raised high, aiming to crush me in a single, decisive blow.
I didn't flinch.
In that instant, time felt slower—my perception sharpened, honed by countless battles etched into the core of this Reality Marble.
CLANG!
The force of his swing collided with my crossed swords, the impact sending a shockwave through the battlefield. My feet slid back against the dirt, lines carved into the desert by the pressure, but I held my ground. Sparks scattered in every direction.
"Tch… that strength really is no joke," I muttered, before twisting my body to the side and sliding out from under his follow-up strike.
I danced around him, my movements swift and precise. This wasn't a battle of brute force—I couldn't overpower Heracles. I had to outthink him.
I had to outmaneuver him.
As I leapt backward, I stretched my hand to the sky. The gears in the heavens above groaned, turning slowly. Swords began to emerge from the ground, one after another, responding to my will.
"Trace, on."
A new pair of blades formed instantly in my hands—this time longer, heavier. I darted forward again, ducking beneath another wild swing of his club, and slashed across his ribs in a quick, X-shaped motion.
Steel met flesh.
But Heracles didn't even flinch.
His club came back around in a wide arc, and I barely managed to block it—Kanshou shattered in my hand, the force nearly throwing me off my feet.
"Damn it... Already broke one."
I leapt back again, and this time, I didn't wait for his next move.
"Trace—on."
A long, black bow appeared in my hand, paired with a gleaming red projection of Caladbolg II.
"Caladbolg…" I whispered as the string pulled taut. Mana surged into the spiral sword like a torrent.
Heracles turned his head—just enough to realize what was coming.
"…Shoot."
A flash of red light tore through the sky. The twisted arrow of destruction screamed forward like a drill from hell, spiraling toward the monstrous Berserker.
The explosion was massive. The ground shook as dust and swords scattered into the wind, swallowed in the impact. The mana burst illuminated the entire Reality Marble like a second sun.
But I knew better than to believe it was over.
As the dust cleared, a massive silhouette emerged—charred, bloodied… but still standing.
Heracles glared at me, the crimson glow of his eyes burning brighter.
I narrowed my gaze.
"Fine… Then let's see how many lives you can lose before this domain becomes your grave."
And the battle raged on.
Heracles stepped forward again, the impact of each footfall shaking the ground beneath us. Smoke still curled off his skin—Caladbolg had hurt him, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
His stone club, chipped and cracked, still moved with terrifying force as he swung again, aiming to take my head in one crushing blow.
But now I knew his rhythm.
I ducked low, sliding beneath the arc of his attack, and slashed upward with both blades.
"Trace, on."
The twin swords Kanshou and Bakuya reformed in my hands instantly, sharper than before—more precise, more refined.
I slashed again.
And again.
Steel clashed against godlike flesh, and for a brief moment, I saw it—a shimmer, like light breaking through a wall of mist.
A life.
One of his twelve lives, carved away.
Heracles roared. Not in pain—but in rage.
His arm swung back and struck me like a hammer, sending my body flying across the desert. I tumbled through the air, crashing into a hill of broken blades.
My breathing hitched, ribs throbbing from the impact. But I stood.
"One down…" I exhaled, wiping blood from my mouth. "…Eleven to go."
I raised my hand again. "Trace—on."
A new sword formed.
Not a standard blade, but a copy of Hrunting—a cursed projectile that hunted its target relentlessly. I projected a bow in my other hand, knocking the sword into place.
Heracles charged, but I had already fired.
The cursed red sword spiraled toward him with haunting accuracy. Heracles tried to deflect it—but the moment it veered, it twisted, curved, and pierced straight into his side.
A second burst of light erupted.
Two lives.
He stumbled.
And for the first time, his charge slowed.
I could see it in his eyes—the primal, instinctual caution of a beast facing something that could kill it.
I walked forward slowly, swords rising around me from the ground like spears of steel praying for battle.
"You're not unbeatable, Heracles." My voice rang out, calm but cutting. "In here… in my world… I can trace every weapon I need to bring you down."
I dashed forward again, blades slashing like silver lightning.
Each strike was faster than the last. Heracles swung wildly, trying to catch me, but I was already behind him, then at his side, then above. A flurry of attacks rained down.
He roared once more and stomped his foot, sending a shockwave that launched me backward.
But the moment I hit the ground, my hands were already glowing again.
"Trace—on."
Another Hrunting.
Another shot.
Three live.
He dropped to one knee for just a second.
Then came the moment I was waiting for.
The opening.
I projected Rho Aias, the seven-layered shield of legend, in front of me—just in time to block the next crushing swing. The shock rippled through the Reality Marble, shattering several swords nearby—but I was safe.
And when the dust settled, I was already behind him again.
Twin blades, slashing in an X once more.
Four live.
His body surged with new anger—but it was getting slower. He was losing ground. And I wasn't giving him a chance to recover.
This was no longer a simple fight.
This was an execution of precision, technique, and willpower.
Inside Unlimited Blade Works, this battle had just begun—but it was a war Heracles could not win.
The rhythm of battle continued like a storm of blades and fury.
Six live.
Seven live.
Each strike, each traced weapon I launched, slowly chipped away at the demi-god's invincibility. My body ached. Cuts now painted my skin with red streaks, and my breathing came heavy.
But I couldn't stop.
This was a battle of attrition. My mind had to move faster than my pain.
Eight live.
Heracles was slowing. His massive body, once unstoppable, now sagged under the weight of his regenerating wounds. But still, he stood.
And he kept coming.
Nine live.
Ten live.
His body was glowing with the light of the lives he had lost. The Divine Core inside him screamed in defiance with each death he endured. He was no longer roaring in rage, but in pure instinct—the sound of a beast being cornered.
Eleven live...
I stood in front of him, blades in hand, chest rising and falling like a piston. Blood dripped down my chin.
Heracles dropped to one knee.
And then… he laughed.
Low. Guttural.
The wind within Unlimited Blade Works shifted, almost unnaturally.
Suddenly, I felt it.
His presence changed.
"What…" I muttered, stumbling back a step. "What's happening?"
The light surrounding his body began to twist. It wasn't just a divine aura anymore—it was feral. Corrupted. Like something ancient had been reawakened within him.
His final life burned brighter than all the others combined.
And then he screamed.
The skies within the Reality Marble darkened, clouds gathering unnaturally over the horizon. The blades around us began to tremble. Some cracked. Others shattered.
He stood.
Now faster.
Now stronger.
The wounds I had inflicted were gone, his body completely healed. But it was not the Heracles I fought before. His muscles twitched unnaturally, eyes bloodshot with crimson rage.
No longer a warrior.
He had become a berserk god.
"Damn it," I hissed, barely lifting my twin blades in time before he was already in front of me.
His strike didn't just break my guard.
It shattered the ground beneath me.
My body slammed into a nearby sword hill, coughing up blood as I struggled to rise.
"So that's it… he was holding back before," I whispered.
I barely managed to roll to the side before another colossal fist crashed down where I had just been.
I projected Rho Aias again, but the shield cracked on the third blow and shattered on the fourth.
"No time for distance weapons... no time to breathe..."
This wasn't a duel anymore.
This was survival.
I ducked, slashed, twisted. Managed to draw blood again—but now his regeneration was faster. Unnatural. Fueled not just by the God Hand, but something darker. Something deeper.
Every time I landed a hit, it barely slowed him.
I wasn't sure how long I could keep this up.
But then—
I gritted my teeth, and forced myself to stand again.
"If this is your true form, Heracles…"
My body shimmered with mana.
"…Then I'll bring out everything I have left."
Dozens of swords around us lifted into the air, spiraling above my head like a storm of steel.
The desert of blades screamed with me.
The battle wasn't over yet.
The wind roared. Steel sang.
Blades hovered around me—dozens, no, hundreds—like a hurricane of vengeance, ready to strike. My projection circuits burned, pushing far beyond their limits. My vision blurred at the edges, and my limbs trembled.
But my will stayed firm.
Heracles let out another feral roar, charging straight toward me, arms wide like a beast uncaged. His bloodlust felt like it could tear apart the fabric of the Reality Marble itself.
I took a deep breath. One last stand.
"Trace—On."
In that moment, every floating sword responded.
They aligned behind me like spears of judgment, all pointing at the charging god.
"Fire!"
The desert erupted.
A volley of swords screamed through the air, piercing forward with unrelenting force, each one aimed with intent to kill. Heracles didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Sword after sword tore into him—piercing flesh, cracking bone—but he kept coming.
He punched through blades.
He tanked through projectiles that would level castles.
Even with a dozen blades stuck in his limbs, he kept moving forward.
I gritted my teeth, channeling my last burst of mana, and with both hands, projected my final pair of weapons.
Kanshou and Bakuya.
I lunged forward, head-on.
Clash.
My twin swords met his fists. Sparks burst in every direction. Our battle became a blur of motion—parry, dodge, strike, counterstrike—each movement a desperate gamble for survival.
I slipped under his next strike and drove Kanshou straight into his side, then twisted and slammed Bakuya into his back.
He roared and swatted me away like a fly.
My body crashed into one of the rising swords behind me. Bones cracked. I coughed up more blood.
Still… I stood.
"Come on," I spat, wiping the blood from my lips, "You're on your last life, right?"
Heracles stumbled.
The swords I had buried in him began to shine with prismatic light.
His body twitched.
And then—finally—he fell to one knee.
I didn't give him time to recover.
With the last reserves of my mana, I whispered:
"Caladbolg… II."
The spiral sword formed in my hand, vibrating with unstable power.
"This ends now."
I launched it.
The sky split as the spiral tore across the desert of blades—exploding into Heracles in a blast of fire and light.
Silence followed.
Ash and dust filled the air.
I dropped to my knees, panting heavily.
When the dust finally settled… Heracles lay still.
No more regenerating.
No more roars.
The God Hand had been exhausted. All twelve lives… gone.
I looked at his body—now motionless—and lowered my head, murmuring softly.
"…Rest well, warrior."
And with that, Unlimited Blade Works began to fade, the world of steel dissolving into shimmering light.
The battle was over.
I exhaled a long, tired breath as I looked up at the sky above me—still dyed in hues of orange and gold as the last remnants of Unlimited Blade Works faded around me. The endless desert of swords slowly melted into light, swallowed by the collapsing boundaries of the Reality Marble.
My body ached all over. Mana exhaustion gripped every fiber of my being, but more than pain, what I felt most… was quiet. A heavy silence that settled after the storm.
I recalled the first time I fought Heracles. That time… he was different. Twisted. Corrupted by the black mud of the Grail.
Back then, I had barely survived. I'd fought tooth and nail just to stay alive, struggling even to defend myself, let alone win.
But this time—it was different. I hadn't faced a shadow of the man. I had faced the real Heracles: the genuine article, uncorrupted, pure, and whole.
And I won.
I blinked slowly. Had I truly grown that much stronger?
Maybe… or maybe, the difference lay elsewhere.
Back then, I had fought him in the form of Jack the Ripper—a form swift and lethal, yes, but one that thrived on deception, not confrontation. But this time…
This time, I had chosen to imitate Emiya.
A man forged by steel, whose will could not be bent. A hero shaped by endless battles, and a Reality Marble that embodied his resolve. Unlimited Blade Works wasn't just a technique—it was a declaration of self.
And perhaps… it was that unshakable identity that gave me the edge I needed to stand against a legend like Heracles.
It made me realize something—clearer than ever before.
Every imitation is a gamble.
Every form I choose to wear… comes with its strengths and its flaws. If I misjudge again, it could be the end. There's no room for recklessness.
My thoughts drifted—unfocused, weightless—until a strange sensation pulled me back.
Golden particles had begun to rise from my arms.
I looked down.
My body… was dissolving.
"...Ah. I guess... I've reached my limit."
It was a soft realization, spoken to no one but myself.
The Reality Marble had consumed the last of my strength. My borrowed form was breaking apart, returning to the void from which it came. My mana was spent. My time… over.
I smiled faintly, despite everything.
"I won't get to see how the others fare against the Argonauts… huh. That's a shame."
A tinge of disappointment lingered in my chest. I wanted to watch over them—to see how they'd rise to the challenge. To stand beside them again.
But…
"They'll be fine."
I had to believe that.
And with that quiet thought, the last of the golden particles scattered, and my form returned to what it once was—my true self, ephemeral and unsteady.
And then, I vanished into the wind.
Fading into nothing...
***
Author note:
Damn, that was rough... sorry if I'm making mistakes again but oh well, I'm was really tired..
This chapter was really took a toll on me, I really need a rest for a while. Anyway with that's the Okeanos Arc ended, sorry if I'm was not able to bring you great experience of the singularity.
It's was fun and yet tiring to me, I hope you're enjoying the chapter.
See you next time.
[Mc images bonus]